Entitled

I was lying in bed last night and I noticed again that my bedsheet had a rip in it. I've been using it for weeks that way without giving it a second thought. It comes with living alone. But I imagined someone else around, and what they would say, what I'd be expected to feel or do..... Ok, I admit - it was my mom's voice I heard. Years ago, my siblings and I started referring to mom as 'The Voice of God'. Not in any spiritual sense, but more as in it could land right in your ear when you were doing something you weren't supposed to. So anyway, what would the common response be to this? - Using a ripped bedsheet like a poor person? Or a cheap one? But you know, I'm perfectly happy with it anyway. It's just as serviceable as an unripped one. Yet rejecting it and getting a new one would be the expected course of action. Isn't everyone entitled to an unripped bedsheet? ...I need to get a life if I'm so hung up on a bedsheet, right? But as always, there's a point to the madness.

I've seen a lot of this in India amongst the poor. How they toil, sweat blood, scrimp and save, all just to buy a piece of gold that they can display on their bodies, for others to see. But its deeper than a mere status symbol. Its a feeling of entitlement that they wish to satisfy- a decent human being must have atleast one piece of gold on them, should they? It's only fair.

I think a lot of people are stuck in their lives because of the crippling feeling that entitlement brings about. I met a man who is a 'difficult' person. His personality is abrasive and he repels too much familiarity or affection. He is aware of it too and attributes it to one fact- his most defining moment in his life, if you ask him, is that his mother abandoned his family when he was one year old. Now, the thing is that he had a normal life afterwards, with stability and resources and love. He had something for 1 year of his life, and then some 40 odd years when he didn't. Yet that which he lost, which he barely even remembers, yet what society has told him he is entitled too, that psychology has told him that he is poorer because of, is what he uses everyday as a reason to be lonely and angry.

I've been thinking a lot about this as I meet friend after friend who cannot let go. Failed relationships, dysfunctional families, financial hardships, loss.... things that have put people through immeasurable heartache, I completely acknowledge that, but what is it that makes some grow through these experiences and some to hold on to them and shape their misery instead? I think its the conditioned feeling of entitlement. that somehow life was meant to be fairer, easier, happier. After all, there are people around us who definitely have it better. Maybe they do. So what?

This 'so what?', I must add, is not a cruel question. Yes, there are a few times, when I listen to many a hypocritical self-pity speech and think 'Bitch, please!'. But thankfully, there are many more times when I feel sad about it and I wish I could just make them see that the answer to 'so what?' is so important to how we live.

"Ma'am! It isn't fair!" I hear this a lot in my classroom as children constantly compare and compete against each other, and measure their achievements and lives against what they've been told to expect. I see the seeds that I can only hope will not grow into bitterness. But maybe I can do more than hope.

I've been preparing the pin boards in my classroom for the next academic year and one of the permanent sections that I've planned for is called 'The Way of Life'. Basically its a piece of wisdom that I take off the net or a book and I try to put in a comic or picture, because I believe my children need to be challenged to think beyond what they usually do. Whether they do or not and how they grow is up to them, but I'd like to provide the stimulus. So the first month touches on this feeling of entitlement. 

From my Facebook wall today...

This is a sensitive topic, so scroll away if you're uncomfortable with 'women's' stuff. If not, take a print out and put it up in your work place...

Mr.Muruganantham's wife left him when she could no longer stomach the fact that he had a goat's bladder attached to his waist as he tested out a new low cost sanitary napkin he'd created. She eventually went back to him, after he went on to revolutionize clean and low cost production of napkins, making it available to rural Indian regions that had been relying on unhygienic practices such as rags and hay for centuries. He has been featured in numerous TED talks and his name is familiar to all those who applaud such passionate rebels with a cause.

But the core issue itself is something that I find still largely ignored. The feminist movement of the 1900's was so caught up in its fight for equality, we seem to have de-emphasized our differences. Equal, but different. That should have made it on to more posters.

First of all, I think a large section of the population require education on some basic biological facts. Not all women are the same, just as not all men are the same. As the numerous ads for 'enhancement' and 'elongation' blatantly scream, each person has a unique sexual physiology as well. This includes women.

What this means, to spell it out clearly, is that each woman has a completely unique experience when it comes to her menstrual cycle. Some, like in those infuriating ads, cycle and jump off cliffs with a gleaming smile, barely aware of what their body is doing. Many and I mean it- many, suffer varying levels of pain. Debilitating, in some cases. At the least, it is uncomfortable. There is also an understandably heightened desire and need for more hygienic facilities.

In a world which ignores this issue and where women have had to 'man up' to be equal, this pain, these needs get shoved under the rug. Painkillers ensure we continue on our demanding schedule without rest and what's more, with a no-nonsense smile. I'm sure we women are proud of our strength and uncomplaining 'manning' up, but is it necessary? And is it always right? Why is this issue so desensitized that we have to find ways around it?

In all the places I have worked in in India, I have never encountered any consciousness of this issue. In fact, I have had to be creative and even sneaky to deal with something so natural, yet so taboo. In private conversations with my female colleagues, I have heard many bitter complaints that are never ever voiced. From washrooms to work place policies, there are resources and sensitivities that women require, that we shouldn't not have! We should not be silent.

In times gone by, there was an Indian practice that required a woman to rest during her menstrual cycle. She was relieved of all household chores and fed healthy foods that actually strengthened her body. The enforced rest and food is something I have tried repeatedly and I cannot emphasize enough how much of a difference it makes. Eventually, that practice became corrupted with customs and in modern times, looked down upon even more with contempt. I am aware it is unrealistic to expect that in this day and age, when even maternity leave is made as short as possible, but I am saddened by how far we have fallen in sensitivity to this issue. That is the point I wish to emphasize.

The work places of today could take a few leaves out of Mr. Muruganantham's book. His earnest desire to understand led him to don shoes that very few men bother with- that of a woman's. Work places policies and resources are largely set down by men in positions of power who have never thought about this. Even when women rule, this is ignored because that is the norm.

I would like to change that norm because I am tired of manning up and I do not want to- I am not a man. I don't have to act like one.  I have sent this post as an email to my former employers already, and I am going to ask for changes in my current work place. These are the points I will put forth and I hope that the women that I know at least will start by asking for the changes that they know they rightly deserve and need!

To my current employers,

I point out these necessities -

Separate wash room facilities for men and women should be compulsory. The rooms should have nooks and shelves for hanging/placing things such as disposable bags and napkins.

The facilities should be attended and cleaned diligently.

If the staff have enforced uniforms, then a dark color should be chosen for the pant/skirt so that a woman can deal with any accidents relating to her menstruation with dignity. There should also be an option to wear comfortable clothing instead.

If the job requires being on their feet in any capacity, then short periods of rest as and when required.

________________________________________________________

I like the idea behind this post. There's so much to the life of a teacher beyond the chalkboard, especially after the bell rings and the children leave. You're a bag of mixed emotions trying to balance itself out; so tired, triumphant because of the difficult students you managed to pull in, and the moments of fun where you all shared a good laugh, a successful lesson plan, the relief at the moments of anger you squelched to adopt patience instead, the feeling of failure as you recollect the unresponsive class, the moments of impatience, the resolve to do better, to work harder, smarter, anything to make sure that you don't let yourself down, because you know that each moment in your classroom influences a child's mind and heart, and that is such a responsibility.....

A day along the river, in pictures...

A cheeky elephant fountain that I immediately coveted-

I found this temple guardian's face quite beautiful-

The ticket dispensing lady on the ferry loves her rings! -

Feeding frenzy along many of the peirs...for some reason, animal lover and vegetarian that I am, I looked upon these huge fish and could only see them as meat! Weird...

Glamorous temples for the Buddha-

Stumbled upon a row of nurseries with the most gorgeous plants, and this beauty-

Celestial beings painted on the wall of a Buddha temple-

A beautiful view-

Quirky art work in a restaurant beside a pier-

The slightly scary narrow steps of a temple (Wat Arun)-

Wonderfully rustic temple architecture-

All Thai men must ideally become monks for a few months of their life. The ceremony involves going bald as well as the shaving of all facial hair, including the eyebrows, which is collected in a lotus leaf and placed under a tree.

This dog was breathtaking, standing on the counter of a shop-

And finally, friends who make my day, even the ones already beautiful-

Teacher Screecher

Since the time I lined up my teddy bears and dolls and taught my lessons to them as a child, I've harbored the dream of being a teacher. Something about the blackboard and chalk caught my fancy- they were tools that seemed as cool as medieval weapons to me. As I grew up, based on what I saw of my own friends, I slowly formed a preference for what age group would be ideal to teach. I zeroed in on the early secondary level- between primary and high school. The kids in primary were too young for me to appeal to their barely there intellect and the older ones were too far gone for to make a difference. So in between the snotty and the snooty, I thought my world made sense. My first teaching job confirmed this and all was well.

Which is why it came as a shock to me when I landed up in school in Bangkok and learnt that I would be a primary English teacher- classes 1 to 6. I was like 'oh-oh'. Didn't I mention that secondary was my strength during the interview? Yet I find myself thrown into these little jaws. Fine, I'll show them what's what.

I now am a slightly wiser human being. Class 1...what can I say about them? The chubbiest cheeks, widest eyes, so ready to smile and giggle for no apparent reason. And so damn earnest, it sometimes breaks my heart. I can barely hold it together when they smack their little chubby hands together in a high-five because they rhymed 'fan' with 'man' successfully. They're achievements are so tiny, yet their joy in them so huge...

And then there's the competition to outdo each other. All I have to do is open my mouth and say 'good' when I get an answer orally. Immediately, there's an outpouring of 'I said it first!" "No, I said it first!" "Ma'am I only said!"

Not all is perfect in paradise though. Class 2 is a bunch of devils that I would gladly send to boot camp for a week or ten. The other classes are okay and of course, fitting in nicely with my theory, classes 5 and 6 are a pleasure to teach. They can comprehend concepts, which is such a relief!

The thing about class 2 and 3 especially, that I find really tough to digest is that they don't know how to spell. What?! This is an alien concept to me because I have no memory of me at that age unarmed with spelling skills, and I don't hang out with kids that age. So, I find myself gaping in an unflattering manner in class often. It's so unbelievable that when a cherub asks 'Ma'am, how do I spell 'table'?", my mouth answers, but my mind is thinking, "No way kid! You need to get back in the womb and stay there longer coz you clearly need more development." It's a testament to my inexperience with toddlers that I expect humans to leave the womb well versed in phonics. So you could say I'm learning.

The other teachers find it funny that I have a cut off time with kids. I don't think I can be with the same set of them for more than an hour and guarantee their safety. So it may seem a strange career choice, but it does work. Classes last for 45 mins in most schools. They're safe. It's okay. Oh yes, they also have cameras in classrooms. Being monitored greatly reduces the instinct to crime, you know. I glance at it from to time like a religious man would look at an idol of his God to gain spiritual strength. It does work.

Which brings us to the other players in the equation. On my first day at work, I was warned about the politics that was common amongst the staff. In the weeks that followed, as a quiet observer, I saw it play out and I'm surprised. That a pleasant friendly woman who is so earnest about everything she does would go out of her way to talk about someone else. That a man who loves to make people laugh would be so quick at misunderstanding and misrepresenting them. But all this, I must add, happens only across the factions. Within them, they are all forgiving. And it pains me to add that these factions are all cut broadly along the lines of nationality and race.

One thing I think we must sit down and change are the classic fairytales that we tell our children-  to make sure that they know that evil is not always and just the presence of hate, but that most of the time it is an unthinking absence of kindness, compassion or acceptance. That it is what happens when you think it's okay to bend your ethics to accommodate your ambition or popularity or whatever.

I wonder at God or whatever creative force that may exist at the creation of this system- how can parents and teachers- people so flawed and so in need of growth ourselves be so completely entrusted with the upbringing of children? It leads me to another thought, this time about religion- most of us have faith in this creative force, this God. But heavens, He/She has a lot more faith- blind, reckless faith in us. Look at how much power we have! And we have the nerve to ask for stuff. If I were God, there'd be an apocalypse every other day. I'd be like, "Damn no, bitches! Where's my white out?"

So all in all, coming back to my apartment at the end of the work day is great.

That's a video I made for my family to see. I share it here so that I may draw your attention to the bath tub. I point it out not just to gloat that I have one, or even because I'm Indian. (We check out each others houses thoroughly when we visit, even the bathrooms.) I point it out for more spiritual reasons. If it is possible for a human being to have an object soulmate, meaning just that- one object destined just for you, then this bathtub is mine. Some divine voice whispered in the manufacturer's ear at the time of its creation, "She will be born, make it perfect" and then gave the man certain specifications- the chief of which was the measurement of my butt. I swear, you can make me sit in it and fill one half of the tub right to the top without even a drop of water leaking through to the other side. Like some human dam. It's way too short lengthwise, but since it doubles up as my clothes washing tub, I'm actually grateful for the dimensions. Like I said, soulmate. I grew up thinking my object soulmate would be a bike, but age changes you in mysterious and pathetic ways. Though I haven't given up hope yet. For the right bike, I'll cheat on the tub. Don't judge me...

So, to my friends who ask me how life is, this is it. Snotty kids, soul searching sessions and bottom fitting bathtubs. Perfect :)

Peace, my friend.....

People represent hope. That's a big part of why we cling to each other, even though we know deeply how alone we are and that when we leave, we go alone. Some might say it's love, but anyone who's been in a relationship that they want to last forever knows that it's hope. I learnt that someone I'd kept in a corner of my heart has passed away and it is devastating. I thought about what it was- what it was about you that you instantly lose when they leave your life, and to me, the answer is hope. The hope of the laughter you thought you'd share for the rest of your lives, the stories you were going to share, the memories you've made together that you could always go back to with a 'Do you remember when...', the hope of hearing a voice that lifts your spirits, the hope of talking about how life sucks just so you know someone else understands, the hope of simply being alive together.

When messiahs and spiritual gurus tell me to 'live in the now', I grasp the concept for what it is, but it is this beautiful, inspiring, smiles-giving hope that always looms in the way and I wonder how it is possible. I was told that it's not true, that it's all just expectations, just selfish desires but what's wrong with that? It's hope.

That's maybe why it hurts so much. People leave. Hope still stays, reminding you of them.

(Rest in peace, Lasheen.)

Back in Bangkok

I've been thinking a lot about the ideal of the romantic lately. Not romantic love exactly, but the kind of idealism we impart to all aspects of our life. Like spiritual growth. If life is a journey towards expanding, and accepting people for what they are is a part of that, then in moments of inspiration, I find myself so enthusaistic to do so that I sit still and can almost feel myself simultaneously absolving and absorbing the world. And then I actually go out into it and the illusion shatters. The self-satisfaction one feels when one is ready to forgive the evil man is suddenly gobsmacked when it faces an even worse enemy- the stupid man. Not as in less intelligent, but as in less evolved. Especially the ones that cannot laugh at themselves or the world.

What is it about pompous people?! How can a person exist without an inclination to humor? I made a joke recently, a small harmless one aimed at a co-worker I knew only by name. He responded with an offended "What are you saying?" It fell flat. Do you know why jokes fall flat with people like that? It's because they take the five foot pole out of their ass, beat the joke with it till it's as flat as can be and then shove the pole back in. This pole also works horizontally to keep people from getting too close to them. It is a multi-purpose pole.

I'm glad kids don't have it. It's why I like teaching them. You've gotten to them before they grow the pole and there's a slim chance you can make sure they don't. This is my classroom-

Teaching is a roller coaster ride. Good sessions and average ones keep you going up and down emotionally, but there is always, always humor. And times when I have burst out laughing...

"Ma'am Poornima, he called me a bad word!"
"What was it?"
"He called me Poo-Poo girl."

"Chuti, you need to add -ing to make sing into the present continuous tense- singing."
"No, ma'am."
"Why not?"
"Because sing already have 'ing'"

They laugh themselves silly for the oddest reasons and they make you see this invisible humor somehow. The weekdays rush by in a flurry of lesson planning- I create activities and games that make learning English fun, with a smattering of that pesky grammar.

The weekends rush by even faster as I explore with friends. I did a quick search for offbeat locations and zeroed in on, um, uh, a phallus shrine dedicated to fertility.

Yup. Now, stop snickering and being all judgy so that you can gawp at these!....

Bows and ribbons don't help, not really-

Dildo offerings. I was speechless-

 This has got to be the most bizarre thing I've ever seen! Unfortunately, my brain instantly named it. Meet 'Double-shooter'. Please don't try to shake hands....

Know your vowels, people. BELLS....BALLS....oh, what's the use...

Coz sequins make everything pretty :) -